A/N: Apparently I think I'm "A Fever You Can't Sweat Out"-era Panic! at the Disco with my titles, here... okie dokie. Fic spans Sam's teenage years into the first half or so of S1. Prequel to "Tell Me of Your Conquests Earned." Beta'd, as always, by my good friend Sarah_Ellie, though at this point I asked her to look it over so long ago that she may have forgotten... oops.
The first time Sam got hard to the sound of Dean jerking off in the next bed, he was twelve.
To this day, he's not sure what it was that had woke him. Maybe Dean had made some noise, or there had been some grumble or thump from the old motel.
Either way, for a few sleep-disoriented moments, Sam had lain there, curled on his side away from his brother. All he could hear was a steady, slick sound and Dean's muffled panting. Then, like the flick of a switch, the sudden realization of what he was hearing smacked into him, and his blood seemed to have a hard time deciding whether to rush to his face or his cock.
He lay in frozen silence as the wet sound of Dean's hand on his dick sped up and slowed down at random intervals, his brother clearly taking his time and enjoying the ride.
It wasn't until Dean made an opened-mouthed, breathless sound that Sam had to physically stop himself from sliding a hand into his pyjama bottoms to grip his throbbing cock. He couldn't stop himself from turning his head, however, angling his ear towards Dean's bed to listen better and god. Dean chose that moment to speed up his hand, and after a couple more soft, wet gasps that had Sam clenching the sheets in his hands to keep from touching himself, Dean came with a muffled grunt.
Sam listened to Dean's breath slowly calm, then eventually slide into the deep, even breaths of sleep before he dared to move; grinding the heel of his palm against his cock and coming so fast he was dizzy.
He breathed heavily into his pillow, suddenly shaky and scared. He could barely look Dean in the eye the next day, so sure that Dean would know. It was like waiting for a guillotine to come down on him, but Dean never said a thing. Business as usual.
Sam put it out of his head the best he could, and several weeks passed without incident.
The second time it happened, he was able to watch.
These beds were not as quiet as the ones in the previous motel had been, and the creak of the bed frame as Dean shifted position was what pulled Sam awake.
Dean was still for a few minutes after that, and Sam figured that Dean had simply rolled over in his sleep. He was just starting to drift off again when his ears picked up on the rustle of the sheets.
He cracked his eyes open, looking across the space between their beds, which was illuminated only by the numbers on the digital alarm clock that rested on the night stand. there was enough light, however, to make out Dean's outline; laying on his back on the bed with one hand moving slowly up and down under the covers.
Sam's face and cock rushed with blood even faster than the first time. The visual, unclear as it was in the dark room, was enough to turn him nuclear with lust.
He told himself he should close his eyes. He told himself why it was wrong on so many levels to intrude on Dean's privacy like that, but he couldn't move. His eyes were riveted by the steady motion of Dean's hand. The way his brother moved his hips into every stroke; mouth open and breath slowing becoming heavier.
Sam nearly lost it when Dean's back arched and his brother stifled a groan, his hand moving faster and Sam had to bite his lip to the point of pain to keep from making any sounds himself.
Dean clasp a hand over his mouth as he came, digging his heels into the mattress and panting and Sam was in agony, cock hard and pulsing inside his sleep pants. Each wet bead of precome leaking out in time to his heartbeat was enough to drive him insane with sensitivity.
Waiting was torture, but Sam made absolutely sure his brother was asleep before taking care of himself. Barely a touch and he was coming inside his sleep clothes; too ashamed and scared to wake Dean to care about the mess it made.
It became a weird game of chance after that, Sam wondering what nights he was going to wake up to his own private porn show.
If Dean knew, he didn't let on. There were even some nights where Sam wasn't entirely sure that Dean wasn't doing it on purpose.
Sam might have been young, but he wasn't dumb. He knew that some guys liked other guys, and he briefly wondered if that was what was going on with him. Maybe the Dean factor was just a culmination of proximity and adolescence.
Sam spent a lot of time thinking about that. A lot of time trying to think about other guys besides his brother, of doing with them what he was beginning to imagine with Dean.
Nothing. Not the smallest iota of attraction, not even to the guys they would meet along their never-ending-road-trip life that resembled his brother. He could acknowledge that they were attractive, but trying to picture them while he got off did nothing for him.
He liked girls though. Liked the way they looked, moved, smelled. The heart-fluttery, breathless way he felt when Sarah McNally in Bell Creek, Montana, gave him a paper heart for Valentine's Day (along with a hug and a small kiss on the cheek that left him stammering and blushing) was definitely proof of that. So gay definitely wasn't it.
Which left him with the even more puzzling option; maybe it was just Dean.
The older they got, the more Dean seemed to up the ante. The first time Sam woke up to Dean coming home late at night, crashing straight into bed smelling like sex and perfume, the vivid fantasy of how his brother had spent the evening was enough to have him hard in seconds. He inhaled deep through his nose, head as close to the edge of the bed- as close to Dean- as he could as he stroked himself under the covers until he came.
He started to look forward to those nights. There were even a couple memorable occasions when Dean would come back and accidentally crash on Sam's bed, either too drunk to notice his mistake or too drunk to care. Sam would get as close to his brother as he dared, drinking in the smell of him to fuel the fantasies playing out in his head. Those occasions had the added bonus of leaving Dean's sex-soaked smell behind on the sheets, giving Sam jerk off material for days.
Girls and sex and his brother- it was all a tangled up knot for a while.
Then Sam turned sixteen, and it was like Dean dropped any filter he ever had. He started to become convinced that Dean was messing with him on purpose.
He woke up to the low sound of the tv, the light bright enough against the inside of his eyelids to annoy him out of sleep.
He scrunched them tighter in confusion for a minute, then slowly cracked them open against the light.
"Dean?" he mumbled, voice thick with sleep and croaky, "What're you- oh my god."
The overly bright, moving image on the tv finally sank into his brain and he groaned, pressing his face into his pillow.
Porn. Dean was watching porn.
"Ah, c'mon, Sammy," Dean chuckled from the next bed, "You're a big boy, I think you can handle a skin flick."
"That's not the point," Sam raised his head to complain, and nearly swallowed his tongue as he looked at his brother.
Dean was sitting propped up against the headboard, sleep shirt rucked up under his armpits and the cord of his amulet stretched over the uneven fabric to rest the little bronze mask against his sternum. The waistband of his boxers was tucked behind his balls, stiff cock on full display as he stroked himself leisurely. He settled himself more firmly against the pillows he had stuffed behind his back with a sigh, legs splayed open under the covers that were bunched in a half-circle by his knees.
Sam lost brain function for a moment as all the blood in his body felt like it was racing into his dick.
"Relax, Sam," Dean hummed lazily, cupping his balls and rolling them in his palm, "Just sit back and enjoy the pay-per-view, dude. Whip it out, I don't care."
Sam's brain was fighting an awful battle between arousal and complete embarrassment. He wasn't sure which was worse, Dean's nonchalance at the weirdness of the situation or how hot he found it to have an opportunity to masturabte completely guilt-free with his brother.
Sam glanced at the screen again, swallowing hard at the close up they were getting of a big-breasted blonde getting pounded from behind.
She was making high-pitched, completely exaggerated squeaks, but his dick didn't seem to care; twitching in interest in his sleep shorts and digging against the seam.
He sat up begrudgingly, pushing his back against the headboard in a mirror of Dean. After another minute or two of fierce inner debate about the whole situation, he finally pulled his shirt up his chest, flushing hot with arousal and dipping his hand into his shorts to pull out his cock.
He couldn't help the breathy groan of relief at the first contact of his hand to his dick, and he immediately started stroking, pleasure racing up his spine.
He risked a glance to the side at Dean, and his cock twitched at the way his brother was biting his lip, eyes fixated on the screen and both hands on himself; one stroking slowly up and down his shaft and the other fondling his balls.
"Damn, that's hot," Dean breathed suddenly, and Sam's eyes snapped back to the screen, and, um, yeah.
"Like that, baby?" the guy in the porno growled, pushing two fingers inside the girl alongside his cock, and she gave another exaggerated squeal, nodding her head furiously.
"Yeah, baby, fill me up, get those fucking fingers in me, yeah," she whined, and Sam was tempted to tell Dean to mute the fucking thing, if she was going to keep carrying on like that.
But then Dean gave a panted half-moan and Sam's eyes snapped back to him. His grip tightened on his dick at the way Dean's fingers dipped behind his balls, stretching the elastic waistband out of the way and splaying his thighs wider.
Dean's eyes were still glued to the screen, so Sam allowed himself to stare, his hips reflexively pushing up into the tight circle of his fingers.
He was so tempted to go faster, the pounding of lust under his skin running hot and demanding, but he forced himself to take it slow; match his rhythm to Dean's.
He couldn't stop watching Dean's hands, how the wet tip of his cock disappeared into the grip of his strong fingers over and over and making a slick, quiet snick.
God, that was a hot sound.
Dean suddenly groaned, hand speeding up and Sam glanced back to the screen, watching the couple fucking like they were in a race, the girl's ass and tits bouncing at the rapid-fire thrusting.
A punch of lust hit him right in the guts, and he grunted as he jerked himself roughly, torn between watching the couple on the tv and watching Dean's reaction to it.
"Fuck," Dean panted, low and positively filthy sounding, and that was it for Sam.
He came hard and sudden, digging the fingers of his free hand into his thigh as his spunk splattered back onto his chest in hot spatters.
He watched the same thing happen to Dean a moment later, his brother tilting his head back against the headboard and his mouth open on a pant. It was incendiary, finally being able to see- clearly see- Dean coming rather than his shadowy outline in a dark room, and his spent cock gave a valiant attempt at a heated twitch.
Dean face broke into a slow grin, and he rolled his head leisurely to the side and opened his eyes, looking straight at Sam.
"Good stuff, right?" he grinned, his voice bliss-slurred around the edges.
"Yeah," was all Sam could manage, swallowing thickly and blinking heavily, the sleep that had been so rudely interrupted catching up to him all at once.
Dean swung his legs over the side of the bed and grabbed the tissue box, cleaning himself up slowly before offering it to Sam.
By the time he had wiped himself and fixed his clothes, Dean was settled back under his covers and reaching for the remote to turn the TV off and plunge them back into complete darkness.
And that was that. They never talked about it, or planned it. Sam would just wake up to a porno on the screen and Dean's hands already in his pants.
It surprised Sam how easy it was, for them to fall into making a habit of it.
What ended up surprising him the most was the variety of porn he would find when he would open his eyes to the glow of the TV in the middle of the night.
It probably shouldn't have, considering the way Dean wore sex appeal like a tailor-made suit and talked like a hooker. His brother was no innocent-minded scoop of vanilla, that was for sure, but seeing Dean actually getting off to certain things still caught him off guard.
Even more astounding to Sam was what would get him off too. He learned a lot from watching porn with Dean.
He learned he didn't have the same fetish for exotic porn stars the way Dean did, for example. While his brother delighted in anything of a similar vein as Busty Asian Beauties, those kinds of porn flicks didn't really affect Sam either way. Hot sex was hot sex, but fetishizing ethnicities didn't really have the same allure for him.
The first time they watched lesbian porn together, Sam was pretty sure he was going to get whiplash from trying to watch Dean and the screen simultaneously. It was intoxicating, to see his brother so enthralled, practically writhing on the bed and panting, his pupils completely overwhelming the green.
The threesome porn was one of Sam's favorites. Seeing a girl on her hands and knees, one cock in her pussy and the other in her mouth fueled his fantasies for weeks after he watched it, imagining what looking at Dean over the pretty back of a girl would be like.
Then there was the BDSM porn.
It wasn't so much the fact that it was BDSM porn, in general, considering how Dean prided himself on his "variety" when it came to his sexual tastes. No, what surprised Sam was the fact that it was a man being dominated by a woman.
Dean was a strong personality, he liked calling the shots and he loved to walk around like he owned the place, whatever that place may be. So to see him avidly watching a man being tied down and taking a beating was the complete opposite of what he expected from his brother.
Even more so when she was pushing a big, purple dildo dripping with lube into the man's ass, the close-up making the red welts she had hit onto his backside with a riding crop that much more vivid and Dean was fucking whimpering.
Needless to say, fantasies of Dean tied down, legs spread and cock hard, completely at Sam's mercy to do with as he pleased became a frequent fantasy playing on Sam's reel.
Years passed in this way. Nights spent listening to the slick sounds of each other's pleasure and days under Dad's command; do this drill, find this research, learn this skill.
Through all that time, Sam wanted; wanted Dean with a hunger that frightened him, and neither time nor their eventual distance served to curb it.
Except Jess. She was the only person in his life who eclipsed his past so perfectly, filled him with such deep love that he really felt that he could start a new life with her. A life away from hunting, away from danger, with a permanent place to live and a family for himself.
It had been perfect, his life with her. Or, as close to perfect as things could get for him. He was on his way to law school, he was close to proposing, they lived comfortably together in blissful, quiet domesticity.
Then Dean pushed himself back into Sam's life, wedged himself back into the center of Sam's chest and the want came back like it had never left. It made him sick with guilt and shame, how quickly that ember flared back to life; burning painfully next to the gaping hole in his chest that losing Jess had made.
He never expected anything to happen. Never even dreamed that it would be anything more than a burden in his heart that he would carry to the grave.
Dean had gone out, purposefully empathising the "alone" part of his statement as he picked up his keys, and Sam let him. It was like walking on eggshells anymore with them; the stupidest thing could set them at each other's throats, and Sam hated it with every fiber of his being. Hated the way that his heart craved Dean even more now.
Now that Dean was the only person left in it, Jess and the whole life he was preparing to lead literally up in smoke.
The door clicked far sooner than Sam was expecting, and he momentarily had the impulse to reach for a weapon before Dean's perfectly-styled hair came into view, followed in short order by the rest of him and Sam relaxed.
"Dude, do you ever chill out?" Dean huffed at him almost immediately, scowling at Sam where he was sitting scanning around for their next case on his laptop, "All you ever do is research; the weird and deadly isn't going to stop just because you're not checking up on it, for God's sake."
Sam's back went up immediately, Dean's bad attitude oozing out of him like the thick pollution sludge at the bottom of a river.
He should have let it roll off his back. He should have given Dean the silent treatment until he pulled the stick out of his ass and got over whatever it was making him act like a prick.
Apparently, Sam's temper was something else he seemed to be losing control of recently.
"Just because you struck out doesn't mean you have to ruin my night," Sam snarked back, clicking probably a little harder than was strictly necessary on a link.
"You wish," Dean all but growled, pulling his jacket off roughly, "Didn't even waste my time getting that far, there was nothing worth striking out with."
Anger flared up in Sam's blood at Dean's callous remark, and he looked up with a glare as Dean tossed his jacket on the chair opposite Sam and threw himself down on his bed.
"We can't all be perfect like you, Dean."
"Oh eat me, Sam," Dean snapped, picking up the remote off the nightstand and clicking the tv on.
Sam clenched his jaw, silently talking himself out of bitching Dean out.
Not worth it, not worth it, not worth it... he chanted in his head, trying to turn his attention back to his work, but even the sound of Dean's channel surfing was annoying, the constantly switching noise grating on his nerves.
"Coming up next on the 11 o'clock news-"
"New and improved-"
"But Doctor, we can't-"
"Out in this arctic wilderness, the baby bear-"
"Welcome to Family Feud!"
"You don't like me anyway-"
Sam bowed his head and put his hand against his forehead, frustration itching under his skin. Maybe he should go take a shower or something. Maybe by the time he was done Dean would have decided on a fucking channel already.
He heard Dean give a frustrated sigh after another minute, clearly bored with the choice of programs, and there was a blessed moment of silence that Sam hoped was the sound of Dean turning off the tv.
Then he heard the tell-tale sound of typical, exaggerated, porno moaning.
Sam whipped his head around so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash, starring agape at his brother.
"Seriously?" Sam flushed, heat crawling up under his skin right next to the overwhelming irritation, "It's not even 10:30!"
"Get off your high-horse, Sammy," Dean snorted, not even bothering to look at him, one hand turning up the volume while he started unbuckling his pants with the other.
"It's Sam," he snapped back automatically, suddenly furious with Dean, even more so when his brother rolled his eyes at Sam's correction.
"What-ev-er," Dean punctuated, tossing the remote aside, "Just stop talking or start jerking, I really don't care which."
"Jesus Christ, you got some fucking nerve, you know that?" Sam burst out, "Can't even be fucking bothered to call me by my name but you want me to watch fucking porn with you like the good old days?"
"I don't expect you to do anything except shut the fuck up sometime soon," Dean snapped, and Sam had to leave. Right then, or he was going to punch Dean in the face.
If Dean said anything to him as he left, he didn't hear it, his ears rushing with blood as he tried to keep his temper in check. The echo of the motel room door banging shut was the only sound he could hear for a few minutes as Sam picked a direction and started walking.
He shouldn't let his brother get to him. They were both adjusting to each other again, after four years apart, and it was expected there would be some bumps in the road. Add on top of that all the swirling grief and confusion in Sam's head- over Jess, over his visions, over Dad, not to mention his twisted-up feelings toward Dean himself- and it wasn't surprising that he was having trouble staying patient.
He didn't know how long he wandered around, just thinking and cooling off, but by the time he forced himself back to the room, the lights were off and Dean was in bed.
Sam entered as quietly as he could, suddenly weary and feeling sorry for himself. He sat down on his bed in the darkness, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.
"Sam?" Dean's voice came quietly from the dark, and Sam sighed.
"Yeah, Dean."
There was quiet for a minute, then the shuffling sound of Dean sitting up and swinging his legs around to set his feet on the floor, the beds close enough together that Dean's knees were brushing his.
"Hey, man, look," Dean sighed, then cleared his throat, "I'm sorry for earlier. For snapping at you and all that."
Sam snorted, tightening his fingers against his skull. Dean royally sucked at apologizing, but the sentiment was there, and he appreciated it all the same.
"It's fine," Sam mumbled, "I wasn't exactly nice, either."
Dean was quiet, and Sam contemplated whether it was worth the effort to go all the way to the bathroom to brush his teeth or if he should just kick his shoes off and crawl under the covers as he was.
"Hey," Dean's low murmur distracted him, and Sam could feel the color creep across his face as he found himself with Dean's hand on his knee, giving a gentle and reassuring squeeze and then staying there, "You ok, little brother?"
Yeah, sure, fine is what he meant to say, what he had been saying for months now, but instead, the words that poured out of his mouth were, "No, I'm really not."
He heard Dean sigh, and shift forward, both hands on Sam's knees now, and Sam shivered. It was kind of sad, when he thought about it. That the only time they could be kind to each other was under the cover of darkness, in the middle of the night.
"I'm sorry, Sammy," Dean said gently, "I wish there was a way to make it better. If I could give you everything back that you wanted, I would. You know that, right? Nothing I wouldn't do for you, if I could."
Heat pricked at Sam's eyes suddenly, and he bit his lip to hold back the ragged breath that wanted to escape him.
"I know," he breathed, couldn't help the hitch in his voice at the end, and Dean let out a sharp breath, hands sliding up to Sam's arms instead.
"Sammy," he murmured, sounding just as pained as Sam did, and he lost it, choking on a sob as he slid to the floor on impulse, pushing between the spread V of Dean's legs to wrap his arms around his brother's chest, face pushed into Dean's thick shoulder.
Dean was startled, at first, but Sam was so undeniably grateful when Dean didn't push him away; instead, he wrapped his arms around Sam tightly, petting his hair and whispering mindless reassurances against the top of Sam's head.
"M'Sorry," Sam said wetly, and Dean hushed him, rubbing one hand up and down Sam's back sweetly.
This was the Dean Sam liked to remember. The Dean who tucked him in at night with a kiss on the forehead and a bedtime story, the Dean who walked home from school with him, and bandaged all the little scrapes and bruises Sam collected on the playground.
This was the Dean that Sam was hopelessly in love with, not the man with a swagger in his step and sarcasm on his lips.
"I'm just-" Sam fumbled, swallowing hard, "I'm just so fucked up inside and I can't-"
A sob cut off his sentence, and he felt Dean's chest hitch a shaky breath in his arms.
"S'ok, Sammy," Dean whispered, and his voice sounded watery, "S'ok, we're gonna be ok. You and me, right? Long as there's you and me, we'll be ok."
Sam tightened his arms around him, wanting so desperately to believe his brother; that they could find a way to quell the terrible, aching pit inside him.
Dean held him until his breath even out, and as stupid as it was, he actually felt marginally better.
Sam felt Dean press a gentle kiss to his hair, his breath warm and reassuring against Sam's scalp. One of Dean's warm, broad hands moved from Sam's hair to cup the side of his face, and Sam shivered as the pad of Dean's thumb gently brushed his cheekbone. Sam hardly breathed as he slowly tilted his head up, and Dean followed wordlessly, pressing another kiss to Sam's forehead, between his eyebrows, the bridge of his nose. Then they were forehead-to-forehead, sharing the same breath and Sam was dizzy with the proximity.
"Sammy," Dean said a little breathlessly, "We should-uh-"
Dean cleared his throat awkwardly, and Sam could feel Dean's breath getting a little unsteady where his arms were still wrapped around his chest. Dean's fingers twitched against his cheek like he wanted to move them, but didn't, and Sam couldn't stop the trembling that started with a shiver down his spine and didn't stop.
Sam fisted his hands in the loose fabric at Dean's sides, pressing up with his knees a little and Dean let out a quiet gasp, the electric charge in the room suddenly amped up to full power.
"Dean," Sam said desperately, wanting so much, wanting like it was going to break him apart. He opened his eyes to find Dean's already open and staring heavily-lidded at him in the dim room. His breath panted unsteadily out of his parted lips, and Sam craved to taste it for himself.
There had been several moments in Sam's life that felt like they were frozen in time. Where that phrase about standing on the edge of a knife or a precipice or whatever couldn't have been more accurate, and you had to fall one way, or the other, but either way, you had to fall.
Suddenly he was without gravity, deep in that fall when the tension snapped in Dean and he pushed forward, mashing his lips against Sam's like he was the only oxygen supply in the deep vacuum of space.
It was like throwing a match in a steel drum of gasoline for Sam, and he didn't realize he was moving until he had done it, whole body propelling him forward to push Dean under his weight on the mattress in an instant.
Dean whined, pushing up into it to slot his mouth more insistently against Sam's, and Sam felt like his world was tilting sideways. This was the living, breathing wet dream he had been punishing himself for for years; he kept expecting to wake up.
He didn't, and when Dean licked at his mouth, it sent heat flashing up his spine so rapidly he was surprised it didn't boil his brain when it hit his head. He opened up to it immediately, moaning low as Dean's tongue pressed against his and his brother's hands tightened their grip on him; the outline of each finger cupping his face like a searing brand.
And the sounds; he pretty, breathless sounds Dean kept making as Sam chased Dean's tongue back between his lips, stroking against the roof of his mouth and curling against his tongue. Then he used his teeth, caught Dean's plush, soft lower lip between them and sucked, and it was like he had put a live wire to Dean's skin. He jolted, a surprised groan coming from his throat and it made Sam suddenly, vividly aware of how hard Dean was, the thick outline of that gorgeous cock Sam had seen stroked and squeezed from afar for so many years pressed against his lower belly.
Suddenly, from afar wasn't good enough, and Sam fumbled to get a hand between them, desperate to feel that hot flesh in the palm of his hand.
He had barely wrapped his fingers around Dean's length through the thin material of his boxers when Dean's hand was there too, wrapped around Sam's wrist and squeezing to the point of pain.
"Sammy," he panted desperately, tearing his mouth away from Sam's growl of frustration, "God, we can't, we can't-"
"Please," Sam whispered, pressing his thumb against the head of Dean's cock in a dirty rub that had Dean gasping, "Don't tell me you don't want this."
"Sammy," Dean said again, a whine of want edging his voice and Sam knew his brother couldn't say that, couldn't deny that he wanted this as badly as Sam did.
"Please, Dean," Sam breathed, running his nose against the line of Dean's cheekbone and panting hot air against him, "Please..."
Then Dean fucking whimpered, writhing hotly against the bed. Suddenly Sam's wrist was free and Dean's hands were all over him; bunching in the fabric of his shirt, fisting in his hair, grabbing at Sam's hips.
"Fuck," Sam gasped, shoving his hand under the waistband of Dean's boxers and licking the hot groan from his brother's mouth, his fingers wrapping tightly around his gorgeous, smooth length.
"Oh god," Dean gasped, hands tightening against Sam's back and Sam needed there to be bare skin, now.
Dean grunted in protest as Sam let go, pulling his shirts off over his head and his brother got with the picture fast after that; pulling his own clothes out of the way haphazardly.
Sam almost lost his train of thought half way through unbuckling his pants when Dean pushed up to press his mouth against Sam's neck, nipping and biting at the sensitive skin just under his ear before soothing it with his hot, slick tongue.
Sam moaned, hurrying to get his pants out of the way as quickly as possible while Dean painted a swirling pattern down his neck with that fucking amazing mouth.
Finally Sam shoved the thick fabric down his hips, almost crying out with relief as his dripping hard cock sprang free of the confines. He pushed Dean back down flat against the bed, the delicious friction of their cocks rubbing together making them both moan.
"Oh fuck," Dean panted, arching and groaning as his hands found Sam's ass, pulling him in tight against him frantically.
Sam breathed shakily against Dean's neck as his hips started up an uneven rhythm, his brother's amulet digging into his chest between them and the grip of Dean's fingers sure to be leaving bruises on his ass.
It was worth it, to hear Dean groaning and panting breathless curses into Sam's shoulder as he rutted up against him, giving as good as he was getting and pushing Sam fast towards the brink. It was like a runaway train that Sam had no way to stop, and Sam cursed as he forced a hand between them, determined to make Dean come before he did.
Dean jolted as Sam's hand wrapped around them both, squeezing and stroking in tandem with the hard thrusts of his hips.
Suddenly Dean was coming with a breathless half-shout, back arching against the bed and hands going tight in Sam's flesh. The instant Sam felt the first hot gush of Dean's come against this tip of his dick he was done for, coming in thick bursts that coated both their bellies and mixed hotly with Dean's.
"Fuck, fuck!" Dean growled, hips still grinding upwards as he rode out every last wave before going boneless and shaky under Sam, and fuck if that wasn't hot.
Sam groaned breathlessly against Dean's neck, his body humming and lax and entirely too happy to stay exactly where he was until future notice. So that's exactly what he did, listening to the sound of their heavy breathing slowly starting to settle in the quiet darkness. He shivered when Dean's hand stroked up his back and settled in his hair, petting gently for a moment, and Sam hadn't realized until then how chilly the room was starting to feel.
"You're heavy," Dean murmured after a moment, and Sam panted a soft laugh against Dean's neck before coaxing his noodly muscles to move.
"Sorry," he slurred sleepily, wiggling up the bed to lay on the empty side of Dean's bed and collapsing there bonelessly.
Dean stayed where he was for several long minutes, and Sam was beginning to wonder if his brother was getting ready to freak out about what just happened.
Finally, he moved to straighten himself out on the bed and settle in next to Sam, and Sam breathed a quiet sigh of relief.
"M'gross," Dean complained in a grumble, nudging Sam with his elbow, "Go get a washcloth."
Sam snorted, nudging back, "You're capable."
"My bed," Dean quipped back, "my rules. You plan to camp here you'll get a washcloth."
Sam shook his head with a light chuckle, but did as Dean wanted anyway. He was too relieved that Dean wasn't having an epic meltdown to complain about being sent to the bathroom to get a wet cloth.
The light from the bathroom shone from behind Sam as he emerged from the little room, and his heart caught in his chest for a moment at the sight of Dean naked on his back on the bed, streaks of shiny come dotting his stomach and arm thrown up over his eyes languidly.
Sam swallowed thickly and shut off the light before he said something stupid, like how fucking beautiful Dean looked, and crossed the room slowly to the bed. He laid down with a content sigh, and plopped the cloth onto Dean's belly unceremoniously.
"Bitch," Dean grumbled.
"Jerk," Sam murmured back.
There was more quiet as Dean wiped himself down lazily, then dropped the washcloth carelessly over the side of the bed.
"Sam-" Dean said quietly after a while, apprehension and nervousness clear in his voice, and Sam reached out with a gentle hand to squeeze Dean's bicep.
"Shhh..." Sam commanded gently, "Tomorrow. Ok?"
Dean's throat clicked as he swallowed, and Sam listened to his quiet sigh.
"Yeah. Ok, Sammy."